Reaper (19 page)

“I’m giving you the lecture because
it
doesn’t have to happen.”

Oz’s eyes popped open. “What do you
mean?”

Cora traced the edges of the folder with her
finger. “While you were out there fucking up, I paid a visit to the
file room.”

“What file room?”

“The place where all the records are kept.
Everyone has a file with a record of their words, actions,
thoughts—everything. I thought that if I had a little insight into
Oz the Human, I’d have a better chance of helping Oz the Reaper.
The record-keeper owed me a favor, so he let me take yours.”

She tapped the file. It seemed too small to
hold everything about him. Had he really been that simple a person
as to warrant a few scraps of paper in a plain folder?

“I left most of your paperwork behind,” she
continued. “This is only a fraction of it. One event specifically.
Does the name “Jen” ring a bell?”

Oz groaned.
This
was the information
she chose to throw back in his face?

“Yes,” he said.

“It’s obvious you know about her son,
Jamie.”

He nodded.

“Did you also know that,” she checked the
front page of the file, “Mark wasn’t his father?”

“Excuse me?”

Cora stood and tossed the file onto his lap.
“I’m going to talk to Bard. You don’t have to look at what’s in
there, but I strongly suggest that you do.”

She closed the privacy curtains on her way
out.

Oz looked at the file, afraid to touch it;
afraid of what he might find inside. Heart pounding, he opened the
cover to find a single sheet of paper. Typed on it was a detailed
report of the night he spent with Jen. He cringed as he read. At
the bottom of the page, in bold, red print was the word: RESULT,
followed by:
Conception. See file: Jamie Oswald Greene.

New ache ripped through the center of Oz’s
chest. Jamie was his son.

Was. What have I done?

Bard pushed through the curtain. “You’re one
lucky fuck, you know that?”

“Lucky?”

“Cora has convinced me to send you to lock
up.”

“Lock up?”

Bard snickered. A low, wheezing laugh that
held more malice than some of the threats Oz had ever received.
“Think of it as time out. You thought it was bad at The Department?
You’ll be bent over trying to gnaw your own balls just for a
distraction.”

Two men who obviously weren’t medical staff
brushed aside the privacy curtain. Apparently, even reapers needed
muscle. One of them, a man built like a brick wall, held a strong
hand on Oz’s chest while the other ripped the IV needle from Oz’s
arm and detached the various monitoring equipment.

“No, wait, Bard you can’t—get the fuck off me
you troll! Jamie... You have to help me. There has to be a
way.”

Tweedles Dumb and Dumber, lifted Oz from the
bed by his forearms. Oz went limp. The strain on his arms was
excruciating, but it slowed them up. He kicked one of them in the
shin, to which they responded with a punch to his solar plexus. The
wind rushed out of his body and the room spun.

“Help. Somebody,” Oz wheezed.

“Pointless, Princess. No one can hear you.
With me and the boys here, it’s like you don’t exist.”

The big guys dragged Oz from the ward, down
the elevator and out the front door without anyone giving them even
a glance. His heels burned from being dragged, but he wasn’t about
to make it easy for them.

Outside, an empty rust-bucket of a car idled
next to the curb. One of the big guys held onto Oz while the other
climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Bard, please. You have to let me fix this.
If you can’t help me, then at least let me try.”

“The balance can’t be fixed just because you
want it to be,” Bard said.

“Fuck the balance. I have to help Jamie.
Bring him back. There has to be a way.”

The anger felt good. It cleared his head a
little.

Bard shook his head.

“Reapers walk where no one else can walk. You
said it yourself. I can go get him. Afterward, you can do whatever
you want with me. I don’t care. Just let me do this. He’s my
son.”

Bard met Oz’s eyes for a long minute.
“Marcus, go sit in the car.”

Big guy rolled his eyes and huffed before
dropping Oz’s arm and stalking to the car.

A soft breeze blew and Oz became aware of the
fact that he wore nothing beneath his hospital gown. He gripped the
fabric closed over his backside.

“You’re going to fail,” Bard said.

“So there is a way?”

Bard turned away and walked to the car. He
came back with a bag and tossed it to Oz. “Clothes.”

Oz nodded.

“Not like it’ll help you. It’ll just be less
humiliating when we escort you to lock up later. Call it
mercy.”

Oz pulled a pair of rumpled jeans and a white
shirt from the bag. As he dressed, Bard took several steps backward
and the earth cracked open like an egg, revealing a black,
cavernous expanse that led only to more blackness.

“Down there?”

“If it’s too scary for you, you’re more than
welcome to come with us now. Save us all a headache.”

Oz flipped Bard the bird and stepped off the
edge.

Chapter
Twenty

It was a short drop, Oz landed hard, grinding
his ankle beneath his body. He looked up expecting to see Bard
peering over the edge. The hole was already closed. Water sloshed
over the side of his shoes, soaking his socks. It smelled like a
backed up sewer.

Behind him a dark tunnel stretched on
forever. Ahead, a faint, swinging light shone against brick walls.
Oz assumed by falling into the crack in the earth he’d be entering
Hell. So far, there was nothing Hell-like about it.

Walking on tip-toe, he inched toward the
light. It turned out to be a lantern attached to the front of a
small boat, which cast a large enough glow that when he was close
enough, Oz was able to see a group of seven or eight people huddled
together behind a tall red-headed man in a grey mechanic’s
jumpsuit. The man dribbled a blue yo-yo with one hand. In the
other, he held a small, tin bucket.

The name tag on his jumpsuit read,
Arizona.

“You’re just in time. We’re about to shove
off,” Arizona said and held out the bucket. “Drop your coins in
here and we can be on our way.”

“You’re the boat man?”

“So you’ve heard of me? The name’s
Arizona.”

“Oz.”

“Spectacular. If you’d be so kind as to drop
your coins then, Oz?”

He jiggled the bucket inches in front of Oz’s
face.

“I don’t have any coins,” he said.

“That’s impossible. Sure you do. Maybe you
just stuck them in your pockets and forgot. Unless...”

Arizona tucked the yo-yo into his pocket and
poked Oz’s arm with his finger.

“Shit. You’re one of
them
aren’t you?
Fuckin’ A. Doesn’t anyone trust a man to do his job anymore? Now
they gotta send one of you folks down here to make sure I’m not
dumping Bas over the side or something? You people think that just
because I spend my time talking to the shadows and learning how to
‘walk the dog’ that I’m not competent enough to pilot a tiny excuse
for a boat across an even tinier excuse for a river? Huh? That
it?”

“What are you talking about?”

Arizona moved closer to Oz, his finger
stabbing Oz’s arm with each accusatory syllable. “Because I can
guaran-damn-tee that you won’t find anyone else to do this
thankless job in this stink pit.”

“No, calm down. I’m not here about your job.
I need to find someone. A kid. He was brought down here by—by
accident.”

Arizona shook his head, noticeably calmer now
that he knew that Oz didn’t care about his job performance. “Sorry,
Oz. Can’t help you. I just escort them to and fro. I don’t pay
attention to faces.”

“It’s okay if you haven’t seen him. Just take
me across and I’ll look for him myself.”

“Can’t do that either.”

“Why not?”

He jiggled the coin tin again.

“Seriously?”

“Sorry, kid. Rules, ya know?”

Arizona turned away to herd the group of Bas
huddled behind him—oblivious to the interaction with Oz—onto the
boat.

“Wait!” Oz cupped his hands and attempted to
manifest a pair of coins.

“Your tricks don’t work down here. This place
is a whole new ball of wax.”

He was right. No matter how many times he
tried, the only thing Oz could blow into his hands was air.

“Please,” Oz said.

“I’m sorry. Really, wish I could help.”
Arizona turned toward the Bas. “Alright, now, everyone in.”

A plank formed between the boat and the stone
step where they’d all gathered. They drifted across, one by one,
until they were all seated practically on top of each other. They
didn’t seem to notice.

Arizona pushed the boat away from the step
with the end of the stick that held the lantern, and as the plank
sank into the water, so did Oz’s stomach and his hope of reaching
Jamie.

No.

It couldn’t be over. Not when he was so
close. Oz knew Jamie was here, it was just a matter of finding him.
In order to do that, he needed to be in that boat. Fuck the coins.
Fuck the rules. He’d broken them all so far and wasn’t going to
start playing fair now.

With little regard for what may or may not be
lurking beneath the surface of the cloudy green river, Oz dove in.
It was like swimming through oil, slimy and clinging but not
impossible to move through. Oz kept his eyes closed and pumped his
arms in wide circles, hoping to hit the boat with his hand before
his head.

Something cold and angry gripped his ankle
and pulled him straight down.

In his panic, Oz opened his eyes. The oil
stung. Closing his eyes did nothing to stop the pain. He chanced a
look down, but there was nothing there. Just a green and black
abyss that went on forever. He couldn’t see it, but
something
still gripped his leg, cutting into his skin.
Swirls of blood rose from his ankle as he was yanked further and
further down. Oz looked up, lashed his arms and kicked the
invisible attacker while looking for something, anything, to grip
onto.

He choked. The collar of his shirt had been
ripped backward and dug into his jugular. He was going to die. The
oil-water rushed over his face and Oz lost all sense of direction.
Up or down, it didn’t matter. His lungs threatened to give up.

Oz’s face broke the surface and something
hard rammed him in the gut. The breath he held came out with a
mucousy glop. He breathed in.

“Should’ve known you’d try something stupid
like that,” Arizona said. “You have that look.”

He lifted Oz over the side by his armpits. Oz
gagged and rested his chin on the side of the boat.

“Nuh uh. You’re not puking in my boat.”

Oz still tasted the oil under his tongue.
Trying to suppress the urge to vomit was useless. Finally, it was
over and his jaw ached. Soaked, Oz leaned backward against the side
of the boat with his legs curled beneath him.

“Thanks,” Oz said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Arizona said.

The Bas hadn’t moved since boarding. None of
them noticed Oz, drenched and nearly hyperventilating, in front of
them. Vacant expressions. Calm, soundless demeanor. Topside, they
looked more like people. Here, they were shadows with faces.
Creepy. Oz was glad that none of them were familiar.

“Where are you taking them?” he asked.

Arizona shrugged. “They go all over. I make
the stop, those who are supposed to get out do so. The rest wait
until we reach the right dock.”

“How do they know?”

“I just drive the boat.” Arizona took hold of
the lantern and the light amplified.

Oz had been right. It was a sewer. As the
river pulled their little boat along, the lantern’s light bounced
off the round, stone walls. If Oz kneeled in the center of the
craft and stretched his arms wide, he could almost touch both sides
of the tunnel. The further they moved, the more intense the stench
became. He slipped the collar of his t-shirt over his nose.

“You get used to it,” Arizona said.

“Listen.” Oz hesitated. What if Bard had been
right and there really was no chance of getting him back? This
could’ve been his plan all along. Did he even want to know? “The
kid? Short hair. Thin.”

“I’ve seen lots of kids come through here.
They all look the same once they’re in the boat.”

“This one’s name is Jamie.”
My son.
Oz
had to keep thinking it, to make it real.

Arizona didn’t say anything, but something in
his face made Oz’s chest tighten. There was a hint of recognition.
A twitch of his eyebrow. And just as quickly as it appeared, it was
gone again.

“Can’t help you,” he said after a moment.

His tone lacked conviction, and it gave Oz
hope.

Arizona hummed a tune Oz didn’t recognize. It
echoed off the walls like a chamber symphony chorus, low and
haunting. He closed his eyes. The rhythm of the boat rocking back
and forth comforted him.

* * *

Oz only just dozed off when the bone-rattling
sound of metal against stone shoved him into reality. Beside him, a
platform led to a simple black door with no door knob.

“First stop,” Arizona said, glancing over his
shoulder at the Bas clustered together.

One of them stood, a woman with high
cheekbones and high, tight hair stepped over the others without
effort. She glided over the cement until she reached the door. It
opened for her, and, without turning back, she stepped through. The
screams started even before the door was shut.

Oz clamped his hands over his ears.

“You get used to that, too,” Arizona
said.

How could anyone get used to that?

The current pulled the boat languidly from
the stone dock. It was a long time before the screams didn’t rattle
inside his skull, and Oz felt like he could remove his hands.
“Where was that? Where did she go?”